


Not Today

by UbiquitousMixie



Category: Battlestar Galactica, Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 01:02:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2409374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UbiquitousMixie/pseuds/UbiquitousMixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We're all dying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Today

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing for this pairing. This is just a short little something that popped into my head. Let me know what you think...comments are love!

Rough, purposeful fingers trail across her shoulders and she shivers quite uncontrollably, a combination of the chamalla and the push-pull of her feelings. She blinks once, twice, blotting away the emotion that she simply doesn’t want to face right now. She is not here in the Admiral’s quarters to explore the paradoxical complexities of her attraction and loathing. She is here to forget, to immerse herself in the physical rather than the emotional. 

Laura Roslin bites her lip and sighs as those fingers tickle down her sides, teasing a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Her head swims and she is grateful to be lying down, knowing her weak, weary bones would be unable to support her in any other position. 

“Is this what you want, Madam President?” That throaty voice is like gravel, husky with want.

Laura nods, grateful for the use of her title to further distance herself. “Yes, Admiral.” 

Sharp teeth nip at Laura’s shoulder followed by the soothing caress of a tongue and the president trembles. She presses her face into the pillow while she is teased and tasted. She had not anticipated this tenderness, this careful exploration. She had expected to be gone by now, on a raptor back to her own ship, satiated and ashamed. 

She’s glad that there is no rush. She’s glad to be wrong. This military officer defies her expectations at every possible opportunity, reminding Laura that at this stage in her illness, her judgment is clouded by jumping to incorrect conclusions. Her assumptions had almost prevented her from coming to the battlestar, had almost deprived her of this pleasure. She needs this like she needs oxygen. She needs to feel like a desirable woman just one more time before she dies. 

Strong hands tug at her body, encouraging Laura to roll over onto her back. She keeps her eyes closed, feeling dark eyes rove over her nakedness, committing her to memory. Those fingers do not return, though Laura can feel each pass of those eyes over every curve of her body like a caress. Finally, soft lips enclose around a nipple, and Laura cries out. She tangles her fingers in thick hair, digging her heels into the thin mattress as she arches her back. She opens her eyes, pupils dilated as she watches that mouth suck and pull and kiss with skill. This is the diseased breast that is being so thoroughly loved, and she is left breathless.

“Have you ever frakked a dying woman?” she asks, her voice hoarse. 

Helena Cain releases her nipple and looks up at her, her eyes dark and haunted. “We’re all dying.” 

Laura nods and Helena looms over her as she lowers her head for a kiss. The urgency and insistency of Helena’s tongue reminds Laura of one final certainty: they’re not dying today. 

\---


End file.
